17. Rico
As true caribenos know, you need to keep your hurricane season plans flexible.
I had already contacted some genealogist friends from the west, set up meetings with local historians and institutions and found a last-minute place to stay. We were set to drive out toward San Germán today. But the storm had better plans.
And by “better,” I mean it’s an overachiever that revved up those winds beyond the weather forecast—going from an unassuming tropical storm to a respectably threatening category one hurricane.
Yep, newly named Cyclone Minerva is blowing in this week and blowing away our plans with it. As if I wasn’t already feeling blown over after last night.
I walked back to my car, drove home, and laid on my bed until way too late, all the while replaying blow after blow. To my senses, to my reason. Okay, fine, to my heart.
Lena wobbling in her heels, Lena in her element while teaching history, Lena dancing, Lena in my arms, Lena tumbling on the cobblestones, Lena glowing under a streetlight, sharing some of her story.
All in all, the night was a devastating attack on my defenses—as slim as they’ve been.
After I replayed everything, I jumped to strategizing. The crucial question being: how will I minimize the heartbreak damage? Already, all thoughts of her leaving make me want to break something. Or at least shove it forcibly.
Who knows how much longer we’ll work together now that the storm has pushed back plans?
And, I’m sure for different reasons than mine, Lena will not like this postponement one bit. It’s bad enough extending the project timeline because of research delays, but a weather emergency forces another level of vulnerability.
I let my family know about our planned travels for this week, and the first thing Abuela said when we saw the forecast change was, “You need to bring Magdalena here.”
So now, if she actually accepts the refuge, I can brace for impact and add having lived under the same roof to the damage control for after she leaves.
Having Lena stay with us is the right thing to do. We may have a humble home, but like most on the island, after so many years of hurricanes, we’re as prepared as can be.
Earlier, I sent Lena a text about the storm change of plans so she would see it when she woke up. But I know I need all the help I can get convincing her it would be the worst idea to brave it in a rental during severe weather and its aftermath.
I recruit all three Morales women for a speakerphone call to gang up on her to comply. Honestly, they could work as emergency personnel dragging the stubborns out of flood zones.
As I extend the invitation to stay with us because of the incoming eighty-mile-per-hour winds, Lena cuts me off and replies, “Oh, no, no. Thank you, Rico. All of you. Really, I am sure I will be fine.”
And she claims she’s not predictable.
Abuela jumps in. “Magdalena, mija , this call is a courtesy. Rico’s already warming up the car to go get you. Do you need Julia to come help you pack? Mari’s pink eye is much better, practically gone, but she’s not the best with organization and use of space. Also, the younger child work ethic, you know.”
“Hey! I am an artist. Creative minds thrive on the chaos.”
“What about the work ethic?” Julia chimes in.
“I’ll have you know—”
Abuela tries to calm things down with, “Mari, mi amor, sorry I brought it up. I love your chaos. Okay, so, Magdalena, I know that Rico would love—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I glare at Abuela and clear my throat. “Lena, I’m sure you’re even less convinced you want to hunker down with this dynamic. But we really think it’s best you come stay with us. Nobody should be alone during a storm. The rental can’t guarantee your safety. Plus, who knows how long before utility services come back on?”
Julia adds, “Yes, there’s plenty of space in my room and an absurdly good futon Rico brought over from New York. Abuelo taught us well, and for years we’ve been prepping like doomsdayers. Could probably supply sustenance for the whole neighborhood.”
Lena sighs. “Look, I am so grateful you would think to open your home to me, but—”
Abuela yet again. “ Ay, sorry. Can’t hear you. Rico’s driving off. Guess he’ll have to help with the packing if you need it. I’m frying up some alcapurrias . Morales pre-hurricane tradition to use up all the food in the freezer before it melts when the power goes out. There’s too much—so really you’re doing us a favor by coming over. Okay, mijita , see you soon.”
Abuela ends the call and hands it to me with a smug smile like, “There you go.”
I ask, “Am I seriously supposed to drive over and assume she’s relented and ready to go?”
Abuela heads to the kitchen as she says, “Oh, she’ll be ready. Especially if she googles what an alcapurria is. Who can say no to both shelter and fried food?”
I’m still not convinced. “You’d be surprised at how stubborn they raise them in Salamanca.”
“I practically raised three stubborn Morales—”
Mari mutters under her breath, “Must be genetic.”
“Mira , just go get her, Rico.” Abuela goes back to the kitchen. My sisters shoo me away to get Lena’s space ready.
I guess I’m picking up la profesora . And living with her for an undetermined amount of days. Great.
To give Lena more packing time, I make a stop to get some backup supplies for protecting our windows from wind force. The buying panic before a storm—always a pleasure.
After she buzzes me in and I walk into the foyer, Lena stands there with all her luggage, arms draped with bags of her packed groceries.
I’m already in the middle of a flashback to our first morning meeting when she narrows her eyes at me and once again insists, “I am a highly capable, independent woman.”
I can’t help but chuckle as I walk over to grab her luggage and bags. “Well, tropical cyclones wait for no woman, self-sufficient as she may be.” I try to carry as much as I can and wonder out loud, “Not many storms in Salamanca?”
Lena stands unmoving and resists letting go of the last bag in her hand. I glance up at her, and she searches my eyes. Hers are full of trepidation.
“Eh, mostly a few rainstorms—which I’ve always braved on my own.” She swallows, lets go of the bag, and looks down as she continues, “I really am grateful, Rico. This is obviously beyond professional courtesy. I—I can still stay here and hope for the best.”
“Nah, you’d probably have to be the one sheltering me if I tried to return to Abuela’s without you. Besides, you were leaving this rental anyway to head west.”
I look around at the bright space and into the kitchen with its now very bare wall where all her research had been displayed.
I ask, “What happened to your sticky note art installation?”
Lena waves off distractedly. “Oh, I saved the notes, but I will have to make do with pictures of it. Lots of pictures.”
I shake my head with a tsk. “Such a shame. It was a thing of beauty.”
She chuckles, “I am glad to know you are a Post-it aficionado.”
Never has a smile felt more like a win.
I’m used to charming or joking my way to gaining favor, landing business deals, winning over tour crowds, even for survival in a house full of strong Puerto Rican women. I slapped on a smile early on so everyone knew I was doing fine after Dad left. I had the grades, I had the trophies and everybody fooled—one grin at a time.
With Lena, it’s all real. Inevitable. The need to lift her just a little, it just is . As if, all this time, I’ve been training to bring out the smile that matters most.
Mano , what am I thinking? I really must have a penchant for people that will leave and not think twice. Or at least a penchant for feeling adrift, hoping they somehow won’t.
This smile of hers is short-lived as it fades with a sigh. Lena looks up at the tall beamed ceiling and then back down to all her stuff. She shakes her head and says, “I can’t believe this is happening. I was supposed to fly over, find whatever information I needed to solve this, and fly back.”
Like I need reminding.
I give her a sympathetic look but nudge her with a bag. “Look, my arms can hold up all of this for only so long. Everything stops during and after a hurricane. You’ll have plenty of time to reflect on how little we actually control.” I nudge her again. “But, no matter what, it’ll work out.”
Trying to be as reassuring as I can with arms and hands full, I find her eyes have less wariness but still lots of emotion. Lena takes a step toward me and puts her hand on my free upper arm. Her soft but firm touch jolts me, and I instinctively flex. It’s a wonder all this baggage is not dropped in a heap.
I stare at her small smile as she says, “Thank you, again, Rico. I might be getting used to counting on you.”
Best I can do is clear my throat, quickly nod, and turn to head out. “Let’s take you home—I mean, to Abuela’s house. Um, let’s go.”
There’s definitely a storm coming.